Things That Could Have Happened
by ThereAreNoNamesForWhatIAm
Summary: An AU in which Sam and Dean met up for different reasons than "Dad's on a Hunting trip." Just a oneshot written for my own amusement. (No slash)
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural or it's characters.**

 **A/N: Just an AU I wrote for my own amusement - and hopefully yours as well.**

 **Palo Alto, CA, January 22nd, 2004**

Sam sat in the dim lamplight of the apartment he shared with Jessica. The cursor blinked, and he scrubbed a hand over tired eyes. It was past 11 PM. No, it wasn't THAT late... But Sam was usually an early-to-bed, early-to-rise type. He just had to finish this paper. He'd chosen to write it on Alexander Hamilton's law practice... But his mind was elsewhere.

Not for the first time, he looked toward the calendar. Jess's smurf calendar. He smiled. She liked to cross out the days, and he didn't. So they compromised and crossed out the days. That was why he'd noticed...why he'd remembered. That evening, as he'd crossed out the day, it had hit him. Dean's birthday was in two days. He'd be twenty-five. He hadn't seen Dean in almost three years. Hadn't called. But then again... neither had Dean called him.

Sam sighed. He knew Dean must've been hurt when he'd left. Oh, he'd known it the very night he'd sneaked off. But he couldn't be around their father one night more. The constant fighting... it tore at his soul. Every day he'd felt himself drift further from happiness. Sam just wanted more from life than John did. That was fine for John... but not for him. Still... he'd often regretted leaving Dean.

Without even thinking about it, Sam had picked up his phone. He flipped it over, and over, and over... Then finally unlocked the screen. He remembered Dean's number—though it wasn't in his contacts, he hadn't forgotten it. Of course, there was always a chance that Dean wouldn't still answer that phone, but Sam dialed anyway.

 *****SPNSPNSPN**

It was almost 11: 30 when Dean's phone rang. He'd been asleep... ish. More accurately, he'd been pretending to sleep because he'd gotten tired of his Dad's lecture. "Be more careful." "Don't go getting yourself into trouble you can't get out of." "Stick with me, Dean." Yeah, sure he was right... but Dean was almost twenty-five. He wanted to try a solo hunt now and then. God knew he could. He bridled every time John told him to "hang back"... as if he couldn't handle it. But still he did as he was told... because it was John-Freakin'-Winchester; the best hunter in the whole world, and one of the only men on this earth that Dean looked up to.

But right now... he was sick of it. Right now, he was being petty. He'd regret it in the morning. He'd go like a beaten puppy to John and apologize for his attitude. And things would be fine. But tonight, John was researching late... away from the motel, and Dean was pretending to sleep.

Then his phone rang. Reaching one hand out of the blankets, he slapped his hand on the desk beside his bed, thumping around until he found his cell. He picked it up, expecting to see John's number. Maybe he'd found something, or needed help.

Instead, he saw an unfamiliar number.

Dean frowned, but flipped the phone open anyway. "Yeah?"

There was a long pause, during which Dean almost hung up...

"Dean?"

Dean was suddenly aware of the silence in the room. His eyes widened and he sat up, as though he'd see the face connected to the voice. "Sammy?"

A quiet, uncertain laugh followed. "Yeah. Hey."

All at once, Dean felt three things. He felt relief. Sam was okay. He felt worried—after all, why would Sam call unless there was trouble? And he felt angry. Really, really, REALLY angry. "You okay?"

"Yeah, man. I'm good. You?"

"I'm p!ssed."

Sam was quiet for a good ten seconds. "Dean..."

"Don't 'Dean' me. Dude—it's been years. Not a call, not a word from you..." He wasn't about to admit that he'd driven to Stanford... just to make sure Sam was there, and all right. Nope. He was still too bitter to tell his little brother that.

"Look Dean—I'm sorry. I knew you'd be angry, and I figured you'd probably rather I didn't."

Dean sighed. "No, man..."

"How's..." Long pause. Sigh. "How's Dad?"

"Grumpy and fine, when he left a few hours ago."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, that sounds normal."

Dean finally cracked a smile.

"Where you at? Hunting?"

"Yeah. Texas."

"You finished up there yet?"

"Just rolled in. Don't even know what we're up against yet. Dad's got an idea, but he hasn't shared it yet."

"Just like him..." Sam muttered.

"Hey..."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Where in Texas?"

"Brownsville. Tiny little nowhere town."

"Maybe I'll send a postcard."

 *****SPNSPNSPNSPN**

The second Sam hung up, he shut his laptop and stood up. He had to pack.

Sam was a blur. Grabbing his backpack, he crammed a few days' worth of clothes in, as well as a knife, and handgun... which he had kept, despite himself.

Jess appeared, looking around the door quizzically. "Everything okay?"

Sam hid the gun under a t-shirt and turned to her. "Hey, yeah..." He smiled.

"You're... packing."

"Yeah. It's... you know that brother I mentioned?"

"Mhm..."

"Well, his birthday's in two days. I called him, and he's pretty close." He had a messed up childhood indeed if he considered Brownsville Texas "pretty close" to Palo Alto. He snorted. Could be New York. _That_ was far.

"So, you're gonna visit the brother who hasn't called you in two years." She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah. He's family, Jess. I just wanna catch up with him... see the family. That's it. Four days—five tops."

"But it's the weekend. What am I gonna do without you?"

Sam huffed, leaving his pack and hugging her. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Sam. Hurry back." She stood on her tip-toes and kissed him.

Yup. He'd miss her.

But right now, he missed his brother.

He hadn't told Dean he was coming. Sam smiled. Hopefully, his brother would feel amenable to a visit, and wouldn't punch him in the snout. Sam laughed, despite himself.

*** **SPNSPNSPNSPN**

Dean hung up the phone. He smiled as he flopped back into bed. Sure he was still mad at Sam... But he'd be darned if he didn't admit it had been good to hear from him. Little snot-nosed kid was all grown up and college-y.

Dean closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly.

 *****SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**

 **Brownsville, Texas, January 24th.**

He hadn't heard from Sam again since the 22nd, but it'd been good to talk to him. Occasionally, his thoughts drifted back to the call, but for the moment, he tried to push those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Dean was in the library, pouring over a lore book. John was back at the motel, getting some shut eye. They'd been keeping odd hours, and last night—on a hunch—John had checked something out in the middle of the night. So Dean said he'd take over and Dad could rest.

"Happy birthday, Me." Dean mumbled. Not that he really celebrated his birthday... it just wasn't that much of a life event. More like a mile-marker on the highway... blurring past at a high rate of speed.

Then, something strange happened.

Like some scene out of a movie—as though years hadn't passed between them—Sam Winchester dropped into the library chair beside Dean's. "What're we after?" Backpack slung over one shoulder, smile just tugging the edges of his lips upward, Sam peered at the book in Dean's hands.

Dean's jaw dropped.

"Happy birthday, Dean." Sam's eyes glinted, and that smile he'd been trying so hard to hide slipped free.

Dean laughed. The sound was loud and sharp in the library, and it earned him a few glares, and a "shhhh", from an old lady, but he didn't care. He crushed Sam in a bear-hug—one made awkward by Sam's backpack.

Sam grinned at him.

"You drove all the way out here? Just to socialize?"

"Pretty much. Sue me."

Dean smiled. "Couldn't stay away, eh, Sammy?"

Sam huffed. "It's Sam."

"Uh-huh." There was quiet between them for a moment. "You're heading back though, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I uh..." Sam colored a bit, and his smile turned sheepish. "I got a girlfriend now."

"Oohooho!" Dean thumped Sam's shoulder with a fist. "I'm proud of you!"

Sam waved him away and rolled his eyes in mock exaggeration.

It really was as if no time had passed between them. Though it was temporary, Dean had to admit this was the best birthday he'd had in... Maybe ever, that he could remember.

 **A/N: Thank you for reading. Leave a review if it pleases you to do so! Hope you enjoyed! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I still do not own Supernatural.**

 **So, I decided I would add another part onto "Things That Could Have Happened." This time, I went back in time even farther.**

 **So, without further ado, read on!**

 **January 1st, 1996 Detroit, Michigan**

Dean Winchester left the motel, ostensibly to grab some snacks from the lobby. In reality, he'd left because the tension between Sam and their dad was just too much. Sam wanted to settle down for a while—not in Detroit, but _somewhere_ —and John didn't. So, they were mid-yelling match. Dean tried to sort it out... or just get them to stop for a while... but he'd been steamrolled.

It was cold outside, and in the distance, he could hear sirens. They were in a bad part of town—or maybe all of Detroit was the bad part... He wasn't sure. But Dean wasn't too worried about that. They'd taken care of the Ghoul, and they were rolling out of town tomorrow. Sam would be grouchy, and Dad would be worse... but they'd eventually let it go, and things would be normal—for a while.

Once in the parking lot, Dean headed toward the Impala. He leaned against the sleek black hood and sighed. Hot breath rose like a cloud before him. Sometimes it felt like his life was crumbling around him, and he was trying to glue it together with bits of his soul. Actually... come to think of it, it reminded him of a gingerbread house he'd built with Sam when they were younger. The roof kept slipping off, and the sides caved in a bit. Bobby said to keep it away from strong winds, but at least they'd had fun making it.

"Hey kid..."

Dean looked up, suddenly alert. He should've been paying attention to his surroundings, but he'd been thinking about the "family feud". "You must be looking for someone else." Dean shot back, giving the stranger a quirky smirk.

"Nah, don't think so..." The man—hood pulled low over his head—pulled a gun from the back of his jeans. Unfortunately, he was more than a yard away... so hitting him, or knocking his gun away would be hard.

Dean cursed himself for leaving his gun inside. Granted, he had a few knives, and there were guns in the trunk... and in the glove compartment. Dean figured he'd play the scared teen now... Get the element of surprise later. "Wh-what'd you want?"

"Oh? What happened to all that cockiness?"

"You've got a gun... I'm not an idiot!" That last bit was true. "L-look, you want my car? I'll unlock it and toss you the keys..." Yeah, _not_ happening. He'd sooner let the man shoot him. But he needed to get inside.

"Go ahead..." The gun twitched toward the car door. "Hurry up."

Dean did. He "fumbled" with the keys, pretending to be concerned. He got them, and started unlocking the door. Once he'd unlocked it, he felt the barrel of the gun on his head.

"Open it nice and slow."

Dean did. He didn't want to give the man a reason to shoot him... at least, not before he'd grabbed his gun. Then something happened that he hadn't planned for. The second the door was open, the man shoved him forward. Dean felt a dull ache as his skull slammed into the metal door frame. His vision blurred.

The man pushed him inside the car.

"I'll take your car... But I can't have witnesses."

Dean felt a spike of panic. Slowly, he moved a hand toward the glove compartment. No way was he letting this freak kill him. _Or_ take his car. His head swam, and black dots appeared before his eyes, but he was determined to stay conscious.

A second later, he heard a rustling sound. Someone appeared behind his attacker... a blurry figure in a tan coat.

First Dean thought it was over for him. The guy had brought backup...

But then, the newcomer put a hand on the first man's shoulder and hauled him back. Evidently, the car-thief had no idea he was there, because he let out a surprised yelp. He turned his gun on the man in the tan coat and fired.

He must've missed, because the man didn't even flinch.

"Wh-what are you?"

Dean frowned... his vision still swam, and he must be hearing things too.

Tan-coat didn't reply. He grabbed the gun, and jerked it out of the criminal's hands. In return, the idiot punched him, and let out a pained gasp. Tan-coat grabbed him and... * _threw*_ him. The man soared through the air like a rag-doll and slammed into an SUV a few yards away. The vehicle's alarm blared, killing the silence.

The man in the tan coat turned toward Dean. "Are you hurt?"

Dean blinked up at his apparent ally. He must've been hit in the head really hard... it was like watching a cartoon fight.

"Are you injured?" the man asked again.

"Head hurts..." That car horn wasn't helping.

The man knelt before him. Even this close, he was just a dark, blurry figure. The man put a hand on his head. "You appear to have a mild concussion. You'll be fine." With that, the man stood up, and turned away.

Dean staggered to his feet—almost hitting his head on the door again—to follow the stranger. "Hey..."

The man paused, glancing back at him.

"Who are you?"

A long pause followed the words. He put a hand on Dean's head again, and Dean swore he heard him say, "I was never here. The man attacked you, and you subdued him, alone and unaided."

SPNSPNSPN

The commotion had drawn a crowd. John and Sam came racing out moments later, as well as a few others. Dean stood over the freak, keeping him at gunpoint.

"Hey, what's going..." John started, but paused when he saw Dean's face.

Fourteen-year-old Sam, on the other hand, didn't hesitate to speak his mind. "Dean, what happened to you?"

Blood trailed from a gash on his forehead. The car had fared better than he had.

John stormed over, glaring at the man on the ground, then giving Dean an appraising look. "You okay, son?"

Dean nodded. "No thanks to this freak. I was getting some fresh air and he attacked me."

"Did he do that?" Sam asked, eyeing the cut, then shooting a rather menacing glower at the fellow on the ground.

"Yeah, but look at _him_." Dean beamed. He didn't remember much of the fight... only snatches. But obviously, he'd won.

"Good job. Looks like we're headin' out tonight boys. I'm sure someone's already called the police. Get in the car, I'll grab the gear."

Obviously, Sam was no longer in an arguing mood, as both he and Dean barked, "Yes, sir," and moved to obey.

SPNSPNSPN

They were on the road again. John drove, and Sam and Dean sat in the back. "Dad, it looks pretty bad—maybe we should take him to the hospital."

"Sammy, stop it," Dean muttered. "I'm fine."

"Dad?"

John glanced in the rear-view mirror. "We'll stop somewhere outside of Detroit and I'll check it out. Head wounds bleed a lot, Sam."

"I know that," Sam snapped. And he did—it had been drilled into their heads by this point.

"Really Sam, I'm fine. Stop fussing like a girl."

Sam rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked up a bit. "Whatever, Jerk."

"Don't _'whatever'_ me, B!t*h."

Sam huffed.

SPNSPNSPN

They'd stopped at a _tiny_ motel outside Detroit. John cleaned the head wound—which really did look worse that it was—and guessed Dean had suffered a mild concussion. For some reason, Dean felt a strange sense of Déjà vu. John said Dean could sleep, but either he or Sam would wake him every hour, just to be sure he was all right.

So, with that, Dean let himself drift off, knowing he'd have a massive headache the next day.

SPNSPNSPN

 _He dreamed of nothing—for the most part. But sometimes, he was sure someone was there. It wasn't a malicious entity. More like... Like his father—like someone was watching out for him._

SPNSPNSPN

Sam woke him up an hour later. Shaking his shoulder lightly, Sam whispered, "Dean? Wake up."

He blinked, then groaned. "Feels like a gun went off in my brain."

"Now who's being girly?"

Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Sam upside the head.

"Okay—you're fine. Go back to sleep." Sam grinned, and his hair fell into his eyes.

"Thanks, Doc," he kidded, letting his eyes slide shut. He yawned, then slipped back into his dreams.

SPNSPNSPN

 _This time, he dreamed of the parking lot. It was cartoon-ified though. The man who'd attacked him was in an orange prison outfit, and he was being thrown around by the wind... by nothing. It was actually pretty funny._

SPNSPNSPN

"Dean, hey..."

"Hmm?"

"You good?"

"Oh..." Dean snorted. "Yeah. Think so."

"M'kay. Go back to sleep."

SPNSPNSPN

 _Something just outside his vision moved around... a sound like rustling echoed around him._

 _"_ Are you feeling better _?"_

 _That voice sounded so familiar... somehow. "_ Yes _."_

 _"_ Good. Rest _."_

SPNSPNSPN

He remembered all of his dreams. All but _one_. It was frustrating feeling; like he could remember it if he tried a _little_ bit harder. Still, no matter what he tried, one dream just stayed out of his grasp.

 **To anyone who made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed this "part two," and if so, please drop a review! :D**


End file.
